Rumination
by lianeviolet
Summary: It is a night of contemplation for Grissom after a disheartening case.


Title: Rumination

Author: lianeviolet

Summary: It is a night of contemplation for Grissom after a disheartening case.

Disclaimer: All characters owned by the creators of CSI.

Spoilers: Written after viewing Lady Heather's Box.

Rating: PG-13 

There is much to be said for serenity, most often experienced beneath the sanctified cloak of darkness. Nonetheless, this night brings exception, as I ache and smolder below the grand and biased eye of the moon, the humming sound of the engine drifting away to silence and returning to remind me of whispering, silken tresses between my fingers and a secret shared between two contrary people. 

My thoughts glide to the tranquil images of bell-shaped, lilac and magenta flower petals and the sweet aroma of heather, spread over woodlands and through the moors of Scotland. Blaeberries are found there, under clusters of heather, known also as Calluna vulgaris and it attracts insects such as the Heather Gall Midge, latin name Wachtiella ericina, and even the rather common bumblebee. The exquisite heather plant is also quite resilient, a survivor thriving in almost any type of soil, whether of poor quality or fertile in abundance.

Comparable is the surviving flower who exists in a maelstrom of violence and dominance, with shapely, tempting lips rounding out lovely vowels and luscious consonants that curl and waft in air like unsolicited smoke into the recesses of my being. I am consumed by this intrusion into my psyche, my professional exterior having been fractured, it troubles me greatly that I could harbor this degree of vulnerability. My responses to complicated situations are usually calculated quite carefully, it has always been important to me to show great control, but at this moment, I sit at war within myself, I share space with a disoriented stranger. 

It is a rather warm Las Vegas night and the warmth causes me to think about supple and smooth skin, with the slightest residue of foundation and powder caressing my palms with the scent of femininity. And eyes like the most temperate, calm, blue ocean, an ocean of compassion, perception and intellect in which I fear I could drown with complete abandon; I am unfamiliar with these feelings of unease, apprehension, and almost wanton desire within me. I am also suffering in a depth of sorrow and regret for my chance transgression, for the insult and wound I have inflicted upon this sensuous and unique woman. A woman who now refuses to speak to me and to leave my thoughts regardless how much I attempt to distract myself; it is a fitting punishment for my mistrust of her, I truly wish I was able to remain as indifferent.

It is those pools of profound sympathy that intrigue me the most, there is much contradiction between her inherent nature exposed to me when we spoke together alone, and her rather unconventional and somewhat brutal chosen profession. I wonder why someone of her intelligence and revealed tenderness, would allow such dangerous, sadistic behavior to be performed by her and around her, and what is more disconcerting is why does this unusual occupation arouse me so significantly? Standing in the hallway of her place of business, staring into those intuitive eyes, I wanted just a taste of the forbidden, but I did not partake of it and I am now tormenting myself that I did not take the chance. I tell myself perhaps it is for the best, the moment would have unleashed the lust I felt for her until I deserted all forms of restraint. My deepest fear at that instant was that there might be no return to the man I was, yet, it is times like these that I feel I put too much importance on keeping composure. 

I gaze at the warm glow from her window and have strong empathy for the one fluttering moth who attempts to keep itself from basking under the hot bulb of a streetlamp. It leads me to ponder what it might be like if I held her against me, my arms enveloping her and the sensation of her heart beating quickly like moth wings against my chest, or perhaps my heart would be the one beating nervously in the presence of such a desirable woman. Maybe my longing for her comes from the abundance of ugliness in my career, there is so much irreverent death and horror, one forgets about the beauty, and when reminded of the beauty that exists in the world outside my job, I want to submerge myself within it. It is true that there is much isolation in death, it is an event one must suffer alone, and this has always caused me to reflect upon my own feelings of loneliness, perhaps this is why I hesitate to let go of this potential connection I appear to have with her. 

Connections...strange that that word should conjure up an image of Catherine. Fair Catherine of the Infinite Strength, or could that be Infinite Denial? I wonder how much time will pass before she breaks like a fragile piece of crystal over the death of Eddie, and, yes, I have noticed the vulnerability beneath her poised exterior; she and I are quite alike with that false impression of impenetrable demeanors. I should have handled discussing Eddie's murder in a better manner, giving her the option of talking about it does not appear to have brought us any closer, why is there such professional distance always? She seems much more relaxed around Nick and Warrick, I saw the drop in her shoulders, that sigh of relief that further speaking to me was not necessary after our very brief conversation. To be completely honest, instinctively, I wanted to embrace her, encircle her with a therapeutic heat that could only give her the comfort she needed, feel her release of tears upon my shoulder, taking the advantage to inhale the scent of her hair, briefly. What stopped me? I was afraid where that could direct us, what could happen if we permitted our defenses to drop. There are moments I have considered exploring a relationship with her, but the realist beneath my skin knows that the price for that kind of indiscretion with a co-worker is almost always trouble, however, the temptation is always present.

God, what am I doing here this time of night, much like a patient peeping tom awaiting the moment I might get a slight view of this object of desire from the window? It is overwhelming how much this incident has taken over all rational thought within me and I am beginning to feel like the worst fool, one who has lost something never possessed and is clinging onto the dimmest hope that there might be something to be recovered. I should just leave here, the hour is late and these ridiculous thoughts are so futile and causing the hints of a migraine. I am growing weary, but I am quite sure I will not get much sleep upon returning home, I am also certain Catherine will not be sleeping well tonight. However, if there is a chance that we do find sleep, maybe there will be some momentary solace for the both of us, if only in our dreams.


End file.
